


swallowed impulses

by fraud



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Affection, Cunnilingus, F/M, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 18:10:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5976379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fraud/pseuds/fraud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“What are you thinking about?”</p>
<p>He could say anything, but at seventeen, with his heart swollen like an overripe fruit in his chest, this seems like the best possible time to say, “How much I like you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	swallowed impulses

 

 

There’s nothing all that different about Kiyoko’s tracksuit when compared to Asahi’s—save for the size of it, but Asahi can’t help the way he thinks it looks prettier on her. Maybe it’s the way she slides it off her shoulders with a languid shrug; the most work she’s done since she caught Asahi looking at her instead of at his math notes. His hands look ridiculously large as they ruck the hem of her shirt up her stomach, over her ribs, until his fingers touch the soft fabric of her bra.

“Th-this is pretty,” Asahi says, fumbling his words as he reveals more of her chest.

Kiyoko glances down, not sure which bra she threw on that day, and nods when she notices its one of her nicer ones. “Thank you, I thought so too.”

She doesn’t bother to lean up, to allow Asahi to take her shirt off properly, so Asahi doesn’t.

He’s gotten better about not psyching himself out about this—the soft swell of Kiyoko’s breasts under his palms, the way her nipples stiffen with the slightest brush of his fingers, the way she can lie back and so plainly enjoy the way he touches her. She sighs when Asahi squeezes her through the satiny material of her bra, catching the outline of her nipple briefly between each knuckle as he relearns the shape of her breast.

She keeps his heart pounding crazily in his chest, but he likes to think he’s gotten better at working around that part of himself.

The simple cotton of Kiyoko’s shirt stays bunched up near her clavicle as Asahi attempts to piece together what made her gasp the last time he touched her. Keeping his thoughts focused is difficult when he can watch her like this, reclined on a couple of pillows and delicately disheveled by his own hands. Asahi can feel her breath hitch every time he thumbs her nipples, tempting him to repeat the action. Every time his fingertips stray past the bra’s cup, he’s reminded of how warm Kiyoko’s skin is, how she’s softer than the fabric under his fingers. How she’s begging to be touched, if the soft noise that pulls from her throat is anything to go by.

When Asahi glances up, Kiyoko’s steady gaze startles him. She’s watching him touch her, excitement plainly visible in a touch of pink high on her cheeks, and that kicks Asahi right in the gut.

In the valley of Kiyoko’s breasts is a complicated puzzle of a thing with a deceptively innocent light blue bow attached; the bra’s clasp. Asahi leans up to kiss Kiyoko, a gentle press of his mouth to hers as he attempts to hide how he still fumbles with the mechanics of the thing. The slide of Kiyoko’s hands, tracing up his arms, over the definition in his shoulders, has Asahi shuddering; his attention torn between touching and being touched.

With hands that feel entirely made of thumbs, Asahi finally manages to undo the little plastic clasp, replacing the fabric of her bra with the palms of his hands. Kiyoko shifts under his hands, her mouth opening under his in a quiet moan, and Asahi should be embarrassed by how hard he is but he can’t spare a thought for himself when he wants so badly to make Kiyoko feel good.

Neither of them are given to being particularly loud, but he likes her quiet moans, the rustle of fabric as she squirms against the comforter, the way her gasps get caught between their mouths. Twisting Kiyoko’s pebbled nipples has her mouth opening, his name caught in her throat, and Asahi shyly dips into her mouth, trying to dislodge it. Kiyoko’s tongue is warm and wet, and has none of Asahi’s shyness. Her fingernails dig into the fabric of his shirt, trying to pull him closer, but only manage to lever herself up against him.

Asahi could touch her like this all day, Kiyoko’s breath hot against his mouth and her body receptive under Asahi’s hands, but her knees knock into him every time she squirms to get closer, and Asahi hopes he has an idea of what that means.

“Can I kiss you?” Asahi asks when he pulls away, torn between keeping his hands right where they are and reaching to adjust Kiyoko’s glasses.

With kissed lips drawn in a faintly confused frown, Kiyoko points out, “We were just kissing.”

Embarrassed but determined to at least pretend to be smooth, Asahi ducks his head to nose the beauty mark near Kiyoko’s mouth. “I mean here.”

There’s a breath of time between his question and Kiyoko nodding her approval, her hands reassuring in their presence on either side of his bun.

Asahi kisses the corner of her mouth, trailing his way down to her breasts with the same question; Kiyoko’s answer a series of increasingly breathy _yes_ ’s.

When he slides his hands around Kiyoko’s breasts, both of them just barely enough to fill his palms, Asahi can’t help but think they look perfect. The truth of the matter is he has no experience with any other breasts, and is generally confounded by bra sizes, but when he leans down to lick at Kiyoko’s nipple, he’s certain Kiyoko’s breasts are exactly right.

Kiyoko shifts as he runs the flat of his tongue over her, sighing out, “Asahi, both please.”

She doesn’t have to ask twice, Asahi’s thumb eagerly finding the pebbled peak of her other breast. Years of handling sports equipment has left Asahi’s hands rough, much rougher than the gentle trace of Kiyoko’s against his neck and jaw, but her body arches up into his every touch. The rock of her body into his, her hips scooting closer to where Asahi has politely positioned himself away from the temptation of rubbing against her, hits him like a receive gone awry.

If he could, he’d stay here until the sun dipped behind the trees, sucking and licking until Kiyoko either pushed him down where she needed him most or reached between them to touch herself. He’d love to see that—Kiyoko’s fingers rubbing against herself, her breath coming in heady pulls as she gives herself exactly what she wants—but he’s got an idea of how Kiyoko wants this to go.

Grazing his teeth against her as he pulls away, Asahi takes a moment to appreciate how she looks—her hair still in that high ponytail she wears when studying, her eyes gone slate-grey in the afternoon light. Even though he knows it would be an awkward thing to say, he feels like he should say _thank you_. For texting him reminders about classes, and saying his beard suited him, and wearing Karasuno’s characters on her back with pride.

There’s nothing all that different or enticing about Kiyoko’s tracksuit, Asahi reminds himself—except for the person wearing it.

Asahi swallows the impulse to say these things, knowing the words wouldn’t come out right.

Leaning back on her bed pulls her belly taut, and Asahi follows the taper of her waist with his hands, all the way down to the elastic at her hips. They’ve both taken their time with each other before, undressed and explored with questioning hands, but Asahi is certain he’ll never get _used to_ curling his fingers under Kiyoko’s waistband.

He’ll never get used to seeing her like this, knowing he’s allowed to. When he thinks of her, even now, his thoughts occur in brief flashes of want—as if he’s not supposed to have them at all. Kiyoko stifling a gasp with her hands clasped over her mouth. Asahi’s fingers reaching for hers on the way to the bus. Kiyoko in his shirt, oversized on her small frame but the perfect length to hit just below her panties—

Kiyoko’s hands touch his, startling him out of his scattered thoughts.

“What are you thinking about?” Kiyoko asks, concern bleeding into the pleasing breathlessness of her voice.

Honesty turns his tongue into a marble in his mouth, as Asahi admits, “You uh- wearing my shirt.”

Kiyoko considers his words, finally responding with a curious, “The one you’re wearing right now?”

“No!” Asahi denies, the speed of his answer more a balm for his own embarrassment than his surety on the matter. Thankfully, Kiyoko’s never been one to rush him, or reprimand him for needing to take the scenic route to his real meaning. “I mean, n-not specifically. Just, any shirt of mine...”

Kiyoko shifts, enjoying the stretch of her own body. She cants her hips, purposefully—into Asahi’s space. “I could do that.”

Asahi thumbs the soft flesh of her belly, not sure how he got so lucky.

When he peels the plain black fabric of the Karasuno track pants down Kiyoko’s thighs, Asahi can’t help but notice her panties. They’re are a pretty, vivid green that in no way match the light blue bow on her bra, but Asahi has long since abandoned the notion that girls wear matching sets on ordinary days. Besides, they fit her nicely, he thinks, and they look just as nice on her as they look with his fingers hooked in them, peeling them off of her.

The darker green between her legs, where Kiyoko has soaked through her pretty green panties, sends Asahi’s heart racing. The obnoxious tent in his track pants has been obvious for what feels like forever, but here’s the unmistakable evidence that Kiyoko is right there with him. She’s sticky and wet, her panties pulling away from her with a soft slick sound, and Asahi is so turned on he kind of wants to die—that is, until Kiyoko lets her knees fall apart.

Asahi doesn’t want to be anywhere but between her legs, when they fall open like that.

“Can I-“

“Don’t say ‘kiss you’,” Kiyoko warns, the faint pink on her cheeks darkening to a true blush.

Asahi laughs, a nervous little sound that serves as an admission of guilt; they both know he would have said exactly that if Kiyoko hadn’t prohibited it. Still, he goes with something less direct. “Can I- use my mouth?”

Nodding, Kiyoko adds, “Please.”

Asahi takes a moment to adjust himself, settling onto his stomach between Kiyoko’s legs. Trapped between his stomach and Kiyoko’s bed, the temptation to grind his aching dick against any sort of friction is nearly overwhelming—but Kiyoko laid open in front of him takes precedence.

Hooking his forearms under her thighs, Asahi slides her closer to his face with a tug. If he thinks about where he is, what he’s doing, who he’s doing this with, he’ll surely choke—so he puts his open mouth to her thigh, and focuses only that far.

One kiss here.

The fine hair of an unshaven thigh against his mouth.

Another there.

The smell of her, heady as his mouth moves further up her thigh.

Her hips move under his hands, and Asahi only holds her still enough to keep his pace. The feel of Kiyoko squirming and urging him closer edges out his doubts and his worries, until all Asahi’s left with is a reciprocal need.

Before he touches her, he licks his lips, and Kiyoko must be watching because she sighs his name like he’s done something right. He dips his mouth to the wetness between her thighs, his fingers reaching down to spread her open so he has a better idea of where to put his tongue. Thankful for the thick, coarse hair that keeps his fingers from slipping, Asahi draws his tongue against her, reminding himself of the feel and the taste.

The noise Kiyoko makes, quiet and sharp, like she’s lost her grip on something she should have been paying closer attention to, has Asahi eagerly pressing his mouth against her.

She’s so slick here, wet in a way that amazes Asahi every time he’s allowed to touch her, and he’s hungry for the noises she makes. There is no hesitance as he maps her with his tongue, focusing his attention near the top for just long enough to remind himself how powerful that spot is, before retreating. Kiyoko’s knees draw up in aborted hitches, inching the heels of her feet up the bed every time his tongue flicks her clit, until they’re tucked snugly under his arms, his head cradled in the warmth of her hips. He teases her with his mouth and his tongue, occasionally his chin when he slips or she tilts her hips unexpectedly, until his lungs are burning and he needs to break for a breath. Pressing the flat of his tongue against her clit, Asahi greedily gulps down air as he works her open-mouthed.

“A- Asa-ha,” Kiyoko gasps, and Asahi groans with the wreckage of her voice, feeling a little dizzy with it.

Her hips cant as her back curves off the bed, unable to move very far with Asahi’s strong arms wrapped around her legs. Asahi knows better than to let her squirm too far—knows this is part of how she comes apart, and that he can give her something better if he just keeps a hold of her.

Still, he looks up her body—partially for reassurance that Kiyoko is enjoying herself, but also because there’s no view quite like this.

Where Kiyoko looked flat from above, save the subtle curve of her breasts, the vantage point from between her legs provides a different topography entirely. She’s a series of fascinating swells and dips, her belly button an indent placed equidistant from the upswing of her ribcage. Her stomach creases every time her hips jerk against his mouth, and she’s so pretty it makes Asahi ache. Kiyoko’s chest rises and falls, steady, until Asahi’s tongue yields to the pursed suck of his mouth, and she shudders with each increasingly harsh breath, her breasts mesmerizing in how they follow suit.

Unable to quash the urge to touch, Asahi reaches up to roll and flick her nipple in his fingers, certain he can handle the roll of Kiyoko’s hips with the other. Keeping his place in the slick mess between her thighs is more difficult with just one hand, but it’s worth it to feel the full length of her body twisting under him. Kiyoko’s teeth dig into her bottom lip, white against the pink of her mouth, entirely ineffective at keeping her ruined pleas to herself.

Asahi loves that she gets so wet, loves the mess she makes of him; his beard slick with her and his every sense thick with the taste of her. He wants to make her come, just like this, wants to watch her fall to pieces from right here between her legs.

With Asahi’s hair still tied back in a bun, Kiyoko’s shaking fingers smooth over his scalp, unable to find any purchase. Dipping his tongue as far down as he can, Asahi drags it back up, sucking the swollen flesh of her clit until its not just the skitter of her fingers but the full span of both hands pressing against his head, keeping his mouth right where she wants him.

“Yes- _god_ , right there-“ Kiyoko pleads, and Asahi groans through the stiffness turning to pain in his jaw.

He can’t help the grind of his hips against her bed, awkward and selfish and so fucking good as his brain attempts to match the rhythm of his hips to that of his mouth on her clit.

Kiyoko’s body shakes and her thighs draw tight around Asahi’s head, Asahi’s hand abandoning her breast to hold her hips down. Kiyoko doesn’t push him away, even as her hands curl into fists against his head and her toes dig into the mattress on either side of him, her hips thrusting up into the wet heat of Asahi’s mouth, so he keeps sucking until he physically can’t any more.

Frustrated with himself, Asahi pulls his arm out from under Kiyoko’s leg, swiping absently at the string of spit that connects them as he pulls his face away—pressing her thigh flat against her bed with his forearm, and slotting his thumb over her clit. His mouth hangs open, useless and numb as he drags the pad of his thumb in wide, quick circles through the mess he’s made of her; unwilling to give up the buck of Kiyoko’s hips for something as trivial as his tongue giving out. He’s got more precision like this, thick fingers dexterous enough to have Kiyoko’s eyes screwing shut, her hips jacking erratically against the sensation.

“Asahi-“ An eager gasp, pulled through her teeth like a warning.

Circles give way to the quick up and down Asahi knows Kiyoko prefers, ignoring her warning for the way she fucks herself against his thumb. There’s a wet spot under her from Asahi’s spit and her own slick, but she looks so good spread open like this— her hips hiccupping into his touch obscenely. The cute crease of her belly as her knees angle toward her chest, her body pulling tight under his fingers again.

Asahi’s a mess with how much he wants to watch her come, his heart in his throat as he gets his clumsy mouth to form the word, “Please.”

It doesn’t take much more, his thumb moving fast and slick against her, before Kiyoko’s mouth falls open, silent as her body curves jerkily into that singular, searing point of pleasure. Asahi can’t help his groan at the sight of Kiyoko, so focused on her own pleasure she trembles from it. Her voice comes back to her in labored gasps that depress her chest when her hips finally snap back, angling away from his touch.

Still not sure how to tell the difference between when she’s come and when she’s finished, Asahi keeps his thumb working until her shaking hands dive down to push him away.

With a satisfied gust of an exhale, Kiyoko collapses back onto her bed, her limbs gone boneless and limp.

“Good?” Asahi breathes, just to make sure, his hands skimming her thighs.

Kiyoko’s smile is slight, and even though she licks her lips as if to reply verbally, all she manages after a moment is a content little nod.

The hem of her shirt is still bunched up under her arms, and her glasses have gone askew, but Kiyoko looks so perfect lying there in her blissed out afterglow that Asahi’s chest feels heavy with it. He likes her, he likes her _a lot_ , and he knows just how lucky he is that she likes him back—just the way he is. The veneer of his carefully curated wildness, so at odds with his timid nature. His lanky limbs and awkwardly adult-sized frame, paired with his ordinary, average brain. His glass heart, too easily chipped, and all of his many flaws.

He’s thinking about how much he wants to kiss her, even with his face a sticky, half-dried, mess when her eyes blink open, focusing on him. “Asahi.”

Snapping to attention, Asahi yelps, “Yes?”

“Are you waiting to finish?”

Asahi turns a subtle shade of scarlet, considering the mess he’s made of his briefs. “N- no, I- uh. Already.”

Kiyoko’s smile widens a fraction, and Asahi knows its not at his expense but he still ducks his head against the full onslaught of it.

“So?” She prompts, and when Asahi remains obtuse to her meaning, Kiyoko gives the front of his shirt a gentle tug. “What are you thinking about?”

He could say anything, but at seventeen, with his heart swollen like an overripe fruit in his chest, this seems like the best possible time to say, “How much I like you.”

Kiyoko considers his answer, fixing her glasses with a touch of her knuckle before she asks, “Me? Or what we did?”

“You.” And then, because it’s the truth, Asahi adds, “And, I mean, what we did—too. But mostly because it was with you.”

Kiyoko’s hand in Asahi’s shirt is met with very little resistance as she tugs him into a kiss, messy face and all. “I like you too.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> the third years all love each other tbh, furudate told me


End file.
